


seasons (waiting on you)

by addictedtoacertainlifestyle



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: (we making a tag for it now because clyde YEARNS), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, IT HAS IT ALL FOLKS, Jealousy, Long-Distance Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, Phone Sex, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedtoacertainlifestyle/pseuds/addictedtoacertainlifestyle
Summary: It's just one year, Clyde tells to himself as he drops you off at the airport.One year too much.--A two-shot of Clyde living in the aftermath of you moving across the States for work.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	1. march - september

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back! here's a fic i've been working on in the past few days - once again, the inspiration took over me and i couldn't stop writing this even if i wanted to. thanks to for self-quarantine, i guess?
> 
> i love this man to death and still have a tendency to make him sad, what's up with that? i apologise, but i also cannot hide my true nature. things will be heaps happier in the second chapter, i pinky promise.
> 
> the title comes from a song with the same exact name by future islands. a lovely, catchy song that i used as a kind of mood-setter when i wrote this.

**March**

_It’s just one yea_ _r_ , he tells himself, drills the thought into his head until he’s sure he’ll never forget it. _One year_.

It’s a fine spring day as he drives to the airport, a high-set sun and a warm breeze. The sun rose this morning with beautiful colours, painting the clouds with shades of lilacs and pinks. You woke him up to watch it, and you two sat together on the porch to see the day come alive. Usually, he would’ve minded being woken up far too early to his liking, but he knew his time with you was coming up to a close; every moment with you became precious to him since he found out you were leaving.

He glances at you, and finds you looking at him, smiling. But your eyes shine sad, pondering. 

Clyde smiles back shyly. _One year too much._

At the airport the parting comes quickly, too soon to his liking. He’d buy a ticket just to go through the security and be with you until you really have to go, but he doesn’t dare to do that. It’s been only four months; there’s no telling if you’re still the same when you return. If you still want him.

 _I’ll wait for you_ , he says in the kiss you pull him into, his hand on your waist. The fluorescent lights paint you golden, your taste persists on his lips; something he will reminisce in the upcoming cold evenings, lonely mornings.

"I’ll let you know when I arrive,” you say, still in his arms, lingering. “Don’t get in trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

He laughs at that. God, he’ll miss you so much. It hits him heavy, just then, a flash of lightning as you pick up your carry-on; a feeling that tears through him deep. The claws of longing, stronger than any beast’s.

"Ain’t making any promises,” he quips in return, keeping up the facade of a man who is nothing more but glad for your expeditions, your opportunities. Only keen to see what you discover, what sort of adversaries and victories you will face.

You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, a gentle touch on his prosthesis, and when you disappear through the security, he feels like he’s missing something important. A sunset after a beautiful day; a splash in the water after the stone’s been cast.

**April**

Some mornings, he wakes up with a text from you.

_good morning! i hope your day turns out great :)_

He always makes sure to write a message in return, even if it ends up being a bit clumsy in the wording or overly exact with grammar. You never seem to mind, never tease him of his texting habits. 

More often than not, there’s talk throughout the day. You’ll text him on your lunch break about something that caught your eye, about your coworkers’ shenanigans. It warms his heart, momentarily guards it from the frosty grasp that threatens to overtake it. He feels content, then; he’s glad you choose to regard him important enough that you want to tell him what you’re doing.

But there’s radio silence, too.

It’s heavy and vigorous, just like the spring wind that rattles his trailer at night when he can’t sleep, when he thinks of you. When you grow quiet for a day or two his thoughts become loud and he feels himself turn cold. Not angry, but indifferent. Never angry with you, only frightened of his place in your life.

At the end of April, on one dull evening, the raindrops pelleting on the windowsill, loud as a drum, he sees your name on his phone — blinking, waiting for him to answer the call.

"I wanted to hear you voice," you say. "It’s been so long."

He knows; how the time seems to stretch into eternity when you’re not here. How he feels like he’s already lived a lifetime waiting for you, stuck in this small town, yearning for a girl in a big city far away. Like the premise of a Hallmark movie, or a tragic fairytale. The odds are stacked against him, he knows. What’s a simple man to do against the inevitable pull she must feel towards someone better, someone whole?

“It really has,” is all he says, choking up on everything he doesn’t dare to say out loud. His hand can’t stop shaking. “I’m real glad ya called. It’s so boring I’m thinkin’ bout doin’ another heist.”

You laugh and he clutches that sound close to his heart; it echoes in his ribcage. "I told you not to get in trouble, didn’t I?" 

_I reckon I broke that promise when I let you go_ , he thinks, but only gives a chuckle in return. “And I told you I ain’t making any promises.”

He is willing to wait a thousand lifetimes more if it comes down to it, if it all ends with you coming back to his arms.

**May**

The annual festivities are in town, celebrating the summer close at hand. The warm weather is drawing people out, curious and eager.

Clyde thinks how he’d take you to the fair; walk with you amongst the people, your hand curled around his prosthesis. He’d share a sweet treat with you, laugh and kiss away the ice cream from the tip of your nose. Stand behind you, your back pressed to his chest and his hand on your hip as he shows you how to throw the ball, how to swing the mallet. At the end of the day he’d kiss you on your doorstep, follow you inside and lose himself in you in the sweet spring night.

He walks by the stalls alone, through the bright lights and loud people milling about. Gets a cup of overpriced beer and stands in the corner, observing those walking by. Thinks about you somewhere across the states, treading through the city like it’s your own. 

You call him later that day, as if his silent yearning somehow reached you and prompted you to ease his restless heart, his teeming mind. Clyde listens to you intently as you recount the events that have transpired since you two connected. It’s not the same as having you next to him, but it’ll suffice. He takes everything you’re willing to give.

"You should come here sometime this year _,_ " you say, and hope whispers its name near his heart. "Maybe for Christmas? I could show you around."

“I reckon there ain’t anything I’d want more,” he replies, meaning every word of it.

**June**

Summer comes to Boone Country without a hassle, without making a big deal about itself. Clyde begins to drink his morning coffee outside where he can hear the birds sing. 

He sends you a picture of himself, once, when you ask for it. You’ve been sending him some, usually pictures from your workplace’s bathroom, and they’ve all been sights to behold. With little learning he’s began to save them all to his phone. He didn't expect you to want one of him in return, though.

But he could never deny you. If that’s what you want, he’ll take a hundred pictures of him.

It takes him over twenty minutes to take a picture he deems good enough to share with you. After numerous casual and not-so-casual poses, he settles on a simple one with his prosthetic hand on his hip, chin tipped up and other hand holding the phone on the shoulder level. His gaze is rather serious and drowsy, his hair unbelievably messy; it’s only 10 am and he’s still not yet awake enough to look presentable.

_now that’s the best sight i’ve seen in a long while! <3 you’re so handsome as always _

He feels the blush reach the tips of his ears, warming his cheeks better than any summer sunshine. 

**July**

There’s too much sunlight to Clyde’s liking; it creeps up between the curtains and wakes him up. The air begins to grow stagnant right after the sun rises; the wind runs warm and thick as he steps outside to get the mail. The flowers bloom proud but wilt before midday, slumping towards the ground as if in mourning. The heatwave is here, he can tell. 

People nearby come find the steadfast refugee from Duck Tape, where the A/C is always on and the drinks are always cold. They all know about you, saw you coming around more and more often, hanging out with Clyde drink after drink, moving closer with each time. Then came the kisses shared across the counter, happy smiles and shared looks as you stayed behind with him when the bar closed for the day. Everyone knew what was going on.

“Work’s keepin’ her away for some time,” Clyde always responds with a stern smile when someone who’s brave enough decides to inquire after you. He doesn’t mind being questioned, not exactly, but everyone gets the hint when he grinds his teeth together and swirls the towel in the glass with a touch too roughly.

Anyone who’s observant sees his eyes light up when he gets a message from you, clutching his phone close as he writes back a text. People who’ve been around for a while can tell he’s started to drink the cider you like the best. They can hear the music he plays; love songs with longing hidden between the notes, each time growing louder. 

They all know him to be in love. No two ways about it.

He knows it, too.

**August**

When the summer heat keeps its grip tightly on Boone County, Clyde begins to reminisce of his childhood and the ocean.

He’s been to west coast a few times as a kid, the whole family packed in a van, driving through the states and cities, forests and mountains to the beach with warm sun and cooling breeze, soft sand beneath his feet. He remembers Ma’s tasty sweetcorn and tuna sandwiches after a swim in the ocean, sitting on the sand. The little cabin on the beach with a bunk bed in the bedroom, Jimmy always claiming the top one in the defense of being the older brother. Moments he looks back on fondly.

Prompted by the heat and the stifling boredom, old memories resurfacing, Clyde gets into his truck one hot afternoon and drives to another place he often visited; a small lake half an hour drive away, hidden in the midst of the wilderness. A small haven just under the radar from everyone else.

Clouds wander across the sky lazily, the forest around the lake eerily silent, wildlife fallen quiet from the heat as Clyde parks his truck into the soft sand. He kicks off his shoes and socks, leaves his prosthesis to the truck and takes off his shirt too, after a moment of consideration. The sun glares sharp at him high above and he looks up to the sky in return, as if conversing with it. _Can’t ya stop this already?_ he asks without getting an answer.

The water is pleasantly cool as he steps into it, his movements creating ripples across the water as he walks along the small beach. Only the occasional birdsong disturbs the silence, or a small rustling somewhere in the forest, and Clyde… He feels at peace, his heart grown calm; his determination soothing his usual troubled thoughts. 

He doesn't have it in him to give up now. He promised himself he'd wait for you, and that's what he'll do. 

**September**

A Friday in early September: a busy evening in Duck Tape, more so than usual. Clyde has no chance, no opportunities of checking his phone for any messages from you until the last patrons have left and he’s cleaned up.

He walks to his truck, nonchalant and calm, content beneath the darkening sky. Nearly growing used to the loneliness, the vast emptiness around him becoming comfortable, but only until he remembers to check his phone.

Along with the usual text messages, you’ve sent him a picture of yourself.

His hand nearly drops his phone to the ground as he sees the picture. _Whoa._

A simple picture of you taken through the mirror — at your apartment, he presumes — in a sleek emerald green dress with a high collar but short sleeves. Hair styled to fit perfectly, makeup to match and complete the ensemble. A golden necklace around your neck and your trusty watch on your wrist; old notes of yourself with something new, something as equally stunning. 

_a party’s starting in an hour! you like this look?_

Like? Does he _like_ it _?_ You look like… _heaven_ , pure and simple ethereal beauty, something he’s having a hard time finding words for because nothing can describe what he feels, no words do justice to how utterly beautiful you look.

_You look so beautiful. That dress is perfect on you :)_

_thank you :’) i’m sure you look handsome tonight too._

_i wish you were here._

Clyde looks down at the messages, blinks. Blush spreads to his cheeks and before he can think, he’s composing a reply.

_Enjoy your evening. And let me know when you make it back to your place._

_will do, sir! ;)_

That little smirk at the end of your message. You calling him _sir_. Are you riling him up on purpose now? Do you know what you’re doing to him?

Maybe you don’t. He hasn’t exactly been vocal about it, has he? Maybe this is how you act with anyone who strikes your fancy. No, you’re not that kind of person, he knows it. But what if…

He gets to his truck and closes the door with a slam. You two didn’t make promises to be… exclusive, as he hears the people call it nowadays. He shouldn’t be mad if you were to flirt with someone else, share suggestive looks, even a kiss around the corner when no-one else’s looking. Even if he is in love with you, he has no right to—

Clyde sighs. It’s heavy, it’s persistent, his longing. He grips the steering wheel and wills himself to even his breathing. The darkness around him seems to taunt him now instead of being comfortable, threaten to swallow him whole if he isn’t careful.

When he settles to bed later that night, the picture of you is still branded in his mind. He didn’t dare to spare another look at it. Your message haunts him.

_i wish you were here._

What would he do, if he were there? At the party with you?

He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the idea before he can chastise himself. He’d walk beside you, in his smartest attire that you complimented him on. You’d stay close to him, hand tightly around his prosthesis, introduce him to all your coworkers, _This is my Clyde._ He’d wear the blessing of your company with pride, even if his cheeks did heat up from being under the scrutiny of so many. 

If someone were to come close to you, look at him up and down and still decide to approach, he’d pull you closer. Make you laugh and kiss your cheek sweetly, show them he’s the one you’ve chosen. If that wouldn’t be enough, then…

Clyde lets his hand creep downwards as his mind spurs him on in his fantasy. He thinks of you, flushed cheeks and panting as he’s kissed you senseless in front of the crowd. Without caring, without any sort of propriety, he’d slip his hand beneath your dress, slowly running up your thigh as he’d kiss your neck just the way he’s learned you like. You’d lift a hand to his hair and a leg to his waist, clutch him close as he’d push you against the wall.

“ _She’s mine_ ,” he’d snarl, voice low and strained but everyone would hear him, would know what he means. 

If nothing else, everyone would be convinced when he’d finally touch you with abandon; your moans would tell everything your dress hides. Clyde thinks about how soft you’ve felt beneath his hands, around him and then touches himself, hungry for you, past the point of caring. Small groans slip out of him as he thinks about taking you against the wall, growling into your neck, giving you what you so desperately need. Showing everyone what he can do to you, how he can shatter you.

They’d all know who you belong to.

When he comes, the images splinter, break into tiny pieces and fly away like frightened birds. He stares up into the ceiling, breathing erratic as the warm hum of pleasure settles into his bloodstream.

He misses you _so_ much. Your warm body beside him, your soft snuffles of sleep. Your wandering hands and the smitten smiles that always turned into open songs of pleasure. The tea you always drank in the mornings, the melodies you hummed, your scent. Your hand in his, your lips on his.

You’ve burned his heart into ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all know how it goes: kudos and comments make me happier than... than clyde right now. (´꒳`) 
> 
> please let me know what you thought of this, i am eager for feedback as always ! i'm also trying out something a little bit different in terms of style, so i'd love to know how it's working! :) 
> 
> second chapter is coming as soon as i get it done - should be very, very soon.


	2. october - march

**October**

Clyde wakes up in the middle of the night to a heavy rainfall. 

He dreamt about a big city with messy buildings, paint splatter and broken lamps. You were there, too, in sharp clothes and with a smile on your face. But everything was so loud — he couldn’t hear what you were saying. The talking people around you drowned out every sound you made. You kept smiling, anyways, reaching out to him, beckoning him to come closer. 

The pouring grew louder, the people kept walking in front of him and when he reached out, he couldn’t grasp you. That’s where the dream ended; you slipping away, slowly drifting and disappearing into the mass, no different than anyone else. 

With a tired sigh he looks at the phone on the nightstand, and his hasty heart begins to beat fast again once he sees them: three new messages from you.

_went to a museum today. some paintings reminded me of you. they were beautiful._

_i really do miss you._

_december cant come fast enough._

Clyde draws in a deep breath as something akin to relief pours over him, much like the rain outside. He sits up, examines the messages over and over again. Growing bold, gaining courage from your own words, he replies.

_I miss you too. Nothing’s been the same since March._

Not waiting for a reply — even though his heart wants him to — he sets his phone back to the nightstand and lays his head onto the pillow, falls asleep again soon after. The rumbling rain doesn’t wake him up anymore, and when the morning comes, the skies have cleared and the sun shines cold.

**November**

The nights grow longer as the fall plunges on headfirst into the beginning of winter. The heatwave of July is nothing but a fragile memory, something that doesn’t feel quite real anymore now that frost tints the edges of the leaves and his breathing mists in the cold air. The stars burn brighter, blinking high up in the sky as Clyde stands outside, waiting for something he’s not aware of. 

Next month he’ll have you in his arms again. The thought feels so distant, so strange that he cannot comprehend it just yet. Will he remember how to hold you? Do you still want him, his quiet manners and straightforward ways?

Before, he thought there could be comfort to be found in the loneliness, but it’ll always ring hollow to him in the end. There’s nothing quite like remembering clonesess in solitude; wishing for the intimacy when all you have is your own shadow. Nothing can soothe you when you’ve had the taste for something sweeter.

**December**

On the 21st, Clyde finally heads to the airport, driving through gentle snowfall. This time he’ll be the one travelling instead of longingly staying behind. Amidst his clothes and other necessities, three presents for you hide within the luggage.

It’s been so long since he set foot into another place. That thought alone is enough to bring nostalgic excitement into him, but when it’s you he gets to see? He is positively ecstatic.

At the airport he becomes jittery, anxious but excited, tries to find refuge from the book he brought with him, constantly checking his phone to see if he’s gotten a text from you. It’s Friday, your last workday until luxurious two weeks off. Clyde’s going to be with you for half of that time; time that simultaneous feels like forever but also definitely not enough.

When his flight is announced and he’s treading towards the gate, his phone vibrates.

_just got off work! :) see you in a few hours <3 _

Flying has never been Clyde’s favourite way of travelling; the feeling of being out of control while in a plane is unlike anywhere else. He can’t even choose his own seat without paying extra, for god’s sake, let alone do anything when turbulence hits. Thankfully, this flight is rather calm, and he’s got a window seat, even if most of the time clouds hide the ground, the cities teeming with people. He gazes over the clouds towards the horizon, wondering where your city is. If he’ll fit in, or if he’ll lose you into the crowd.

The sun has set by the time his flight lands, and his heartbeat leaps into a gallop once he finally steps a foot outside the plane again. There’s only darkness outside the small, round windows of the hallway as he walks, and he feels like he’s somewhere in the middle, in a peculiar limbo where everything and nothing exists. 

Finally, making his way into the departure area, where the lights grow sharp and the polished floor beneath him reflects his flurried walk. Another corner, and—

There you are. _Oh._

“ _Clyde!_ ” 

You spot him immediately amongst the people, your eyes meeting his, and a huge smile bursts on your face. Clyde can’t exactly comprehend what happens and when; there’s only a time where you’re far away, and then finally back in his arms. Everything else has disappeared around him, his world shrinking down to the size of this embrace.

Your arms wind around his neck and he instinctively wraps his around your waist, pulling you to him so that you lift off the ground. A heavy burden of many months, sleepless nights and lonely days finally melts away, leaving nothing but you, warm and solid and _real_. He presses his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of you he’d already began to forget. Your breathing warms his neck, your hands finding purchase on his back.

“You’re here…” you say as if in disbelief as Clyde lets you down slowly. 

“I sure am,” he says, just as astonished and mesmerised, greedy eyes drinking you in.

It’s still you, he can see — he’s endlessly glad that you haven’t become something unrecognisable. Your sweet smile and bright eyes, the simple light of your _being_ that rivals anything else; things he’s deeply missed. Until their absence, he never realised how significant they were.

You let your hands wander across him, mapping out the old until your palms cup his face, and then you’re pulling him into a kiss and god — his memories of your kisses did no justice to the real thing. Firm but tender, always delicate, like frost in the corner of the windows or the first snowfall, met with wonder and awe. 

Eventually you have to break apart, but you never lose your hold of him. 

\--

Through the large, loud city that doesn’t sleep at night, weaving through the crowd, you two eventually stumble upon your apartment building. It snowed the whole way and now there’s snowflakes in your hair and on your shoulders that start melting in the staircase.

Your apartment is small, only a bathroom and a kitchen, then one larger room with your bed, couch and a TV as well as one of those fancy tables you can lift from the hinges and lay it flat against the wall, taking up as little space as possible. It is comfortable, though, marks of life all around, little bits of your personality making it impossibly endearing in his eyes. He looks around in wonder as you take off your coat and go around to put the lights on.

“You must be hungry,” you say before disappearing into the kitchen. “I went shopping earlier so we have some food, but we’ll have to go get Christmas groceries together.”

Clyde takes off his shoes and hangs his coat next to yours, a sight he has to linger on, absorbing the utter domesticity of this all; you and him under the same roof, waking up together and going to sleep together, doing every significant and mundane thing in between like any couple would. He listens with half an ear as you talk something about the holidays and thus doesn’t notice you coming behind him. 

”Clyde?”

He’s pulled back from his thoughts when you wrap your arms around his middle, stepping close so you can hug him tightly, laying your head against his back. Shivers rush up his spine, a forgotten feeling rearing its head.

”Been wanting to do this for a long time,” you mumble into his shirt. Your hands begin to wander, further down to the waistband of his jeans, unbuckling his belt. The touch is simple, rather chaste, but the way you hum as you reacquaint yourself with his body tells him your thoughts are not the same sort as your actions.

He thought he could control himself, but he’s already half-hard just from this, having to bite back a groan as you lift his shirt from his jeans and slip your hand beneath. There’s nothing more than he wants than to press you against the wall, take you right here and make up for all the lost months apart, find eachother again and discover everything left behind. 

But you stop before his thoughts wander further, detach from him slowly as he turns around. You say nothing at first, only respond with a kiss on his cheek and gently pat his arm, smirking. Even without any words, you know exactly what he’s been thinking.

“The shower’s pretty small but I think you’ll fit just about. I’ll make us something to eat in the meantime, alright?”

In a few minutes Clyde is beneath the running water; he lets the warmth encase him as his fingers and the tip of his nose tingle with cold. Still trying to catch up, realise that he really is here, back with you, is going to be for a while. He’d forgotten how good it feels, to have another person care and look after him the way you do. How easily you take him in, already working in tandem, somehow one step ahead where he could easily fall behind.

Have his worries been for nothing? Has he feared the worst without regarding your own feelings, imagined the unimaginable without even asking what you might want?

A year is a long time to be apart. He wouldn’t have been able to be mad at you had you chosen to look for someone else in the meantime. But… Maybe he has been too harsh on himself, on _you_. You have never shown any signs of wanting anyone else. And now too, with the way you dote on him already. He still doubts; his mind won’t let it go so easily. But he has tangible evidence of your affection, your unbridled fondness towards him. It has to count for something.

After cleaning the dust and the dirt of travel, he steps out of the shower to notice you’ve folded out a cosy outfit from his suitcase on top of the toilet for him to put on. It’s just a small thing, but something you clearly did without much sound, sneaking in and putting a seemingly insignificant detail into his routine. He gets dressed and peers into your mirror above the sink, all fogged up. Something in him sighs with relief.

The dinner is a calm affair, intimate in a way nothing else has been. You two cram the dinner into your tiny table, you perched at the edge of your bed while Clyde sits on the only chair. It’s something he only used to dream of when he was still in high school; a small apartment in a big city with someone he loves, sharing the space so selflessly there wouldn’t be room for anything else but him and them and love.

Now he looks at you, smiling around your food and it’s all so much, it’s everything for him to finally get to be here in your vicinity after a time that felt never-ending. 

You tell him about anything and everything, things happening at your work, the places you’ve been to in the city, your new friends you now have. He listens, he really does, every jealous thought gone in your close proximity, and in return ends up sharing what’s been going on back in Boone County in the previous months. Nothing special or exciting, but you listen intently anyways, clearly interested and curious. As the plates empty your legs slot between his, your bare foot running up his calf. He nearly chokes on his wine just then.

“Help me clean up?” you soon ask, even bat your eyes comically for good measure, and who is he to deny you?

“Of course, ma’am.”

About an hour later, everything and everyone ready for bed, it’s just you and him laying on top of the blanket on your bed, a dim glow from your bedside lamp keeping company. You’re so close and he really wants to touch you, finds no reason why he shouldn’t. Your laugh is clear and genuine as he smooths down your hair, lets his fingers travel down your cheek. He gazes upon you, his heart an eager bird caged in his chest.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss me?” you ask after a while, clearly content with his touches, but there’s a dark shadow in your eyes. ”Because I’d very much want you to.”

He too, wants that more than anything, so it’s rather easy to go from there, as he leans over to press his lips against yours. Again, and again, with that kind of eagerness you always bring out of him. You fuel the wild flames crackling within him, your sweet mouth bringing him down to a trance where all he knows is you.

“Can I take this off?” you ask after a while, hand hovering over his prosthesis. With a small nod he sits up straight, meaning to take it off himself, but you stop him. ”Let me.”

And he lets you, you detach it and set it down on the floor — just out of reach so he won’t accidentally step on it — and touch his arm. Gentle fingertips brush over the scar, the sharp X that always seems to mark the spot; showing where a part of him is forever lost. But when you lift his arm and press gentle kisses to the sensitive skin, he begins to think that maybe… It might just mark the spot of a treasure.

You kiss him again, warm and wet and just a little bit needy until you decide it’s not enough and climb on top of him, straddling him as he settles against the headboard, a new buzzing in his body. As he relearns the ways you move with him, get comfortable on top of him, his hand roams over your body, tugs and pulls off the shirt you’re wearing. 

Lungs heaving for breath, he lets his gaze run over you. His memories of you like this have been both sharp and vague, altering from little intricate details to blurry wide pictures, but… None of it did you any justice. 

You really are the most beautiful being. Out of anything and anyone.

He tells you this; in a hushed murmur to the soft skin of your neck when he’s finally inside you, finding the old pathways of pleasure, chasing that burst of starlight. You ride him without missing a beat, aligned and perfectly made. Clyde briefly thinks that if he were to believe in fate or destiny — he knows you two would’ve been made for each other. Nothing else can explain it. 

You sigh into his hair and he noses down the valley of your breasts, his hand on the small of your back, guiding you. He can’t fight back the smile that forms.

He might just believe in fate now. You make him believe in all sorts of things.

**January**

The year starts stagnant, even if he has the recent memories of you to sustain him. Returning back home was like a step backwards to him, precious progress lost. Ringing in the New Year had never felt so empty, so… devoid. At the stroke of midnight, he kept looking around Duck Tape and so very deeply hoped you’d been there with him, that you’d seen the beginning of a new year right beside him, kissing him as the very first thing. 

Christmas with you was everything he’d hoped for and more.

Mundane days never seem as extraordinary as they do now that he looks back on them. You showed him around the city, explored a few museums, visited restaurants you told him you liked. It’d been so long since Clyde had truly been a part of a bustling city, walking amongst the people. He didn’t think he’d fit in. But with your hand in his and your dazzling smile guiding him, all fears left him and he was free to enjoy everything with you.

One evening you two rented skates and tried your luck on the ice rink in downtown. While tying the laces, he offhandedly mentioned he’d played hockey up until high school, but hadn’t skated much after that. You hadn’t been in the rink for a long time, either, so you just smiled and said that you’d be there for him to lean into. But your smile faded as he glided on the ice soon enough with a small smirk on his face — some things aren’t forgotten that easily. You ended up being the one who leaned on him, but he was more than glad to link arms with you and skate along.

When Christmas rolled around, you two didn’t leave the apartment much. The celebrations were rather small, but they felt perfect to him. Spending time with you was what he’d been deeply yearning for all those months, and he wanted his fill of it, soak in every little moment until he could do it no longer.

You cooked together, made a simple but delicious feast for Christmas Day; you said his help was crucial in making it as good as it was, but he knew better. Before that you shared and opened presents, laughing and then tearing up over the carefully chosen gifts. The bright mornings and afternoons were spent in bed, either reading or talking or getting lost in one another, sharing a secret song between kisses and touches. Evenings curled up on the couch, watching all the cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies he could handle. Making the 500-piece puzzle you gave him as one of the presents. Going for a walk in the snowfall. Holding hands under the blanket and blushing, marveling the tenderness of it. Being together.

Clyde sighs, closes his eyes and returns to the memories: his safe haven.

Only two more months left. The last leg of this waiting game is beginning. The winter is long, but so is his patience.

**February**

February drags on. Snowstorm after another beat up Boone County, and days are about as endless as the snow piling up on his yard. The dark nights are spent alone in the cold trailer, wishing he’d had you to hang on to and warm up with. The embers in his chest are barely kindles now, waiting to be fanned into a proper flame once more.

A dull evening spent reading in late February is turned around when you call him. The usual pleasantries are swiftly forgotten and Clyde can sense the shift in the air, the change in your voice.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Clyde,” you confess, nearly breathless. ”Since Christmas, you’ve been on my mind. Distracting me…”

 _Oh_. He thinks he knows what’s happening. The slow, demure tone of your voice tells him you’re not just doing small talk here. He’s never done this before, but more than aware of how it’s meant to unravel.

”So what’ve you been thinkin’ bout?” he responds, playing his part as calm and collected as he can be — even though he feels a flutter in his stomach, an itch further down.

”Right now? How beautiful you look when you come.”

He nearly gasps out loud, blush blooming on his cheeks as he feels himself tense; he was _not_ expecting that. You pull no punches. ”Y-yeah?”

”Whenever I’ve wanted to get off, I’ve thought about you. Nobody else does it for me anymore,” you say with a wavering voice, and it sounds like a confession, something you don’t realise you’ve admitted until it’s left your mouth. 

Clyde tries to comprehend your words, but finds himself at a loss, barely able to understand what you’ve just said. He can’t give you silence as an answer, though, so he marches on:

”So you’re… doin’ that now? Touchin’ yourself?”

”Fuck, yes I am, and you better be—”

”Tell me,” he breathes, and _fuck_ does he hate his prosthesis right now, because it’s not meant to hold a phone while he jacks off with his other hand, and so it’s a small hassle to put the phone on speaker beside him on the pillow. He lays down and looks up into the ceiling, unable to believe this is really happening, that he’s really doing this. ”Tell me whatcha been thinkin’, then.”

And by god do you tell him; your breathy voice recounts everything you’ve fantasized about, every thought you’ve had when the night’s been dark and you’ve been all by yourself, recounting your time together with him or coming up with scenes of your own. With each new narrative Clyde’s want deepens and he encourages you to go on without shame. 

When the moment shifts, Clyde voices aloud what he’d do to you if he was there right now, how he’d make you sing for him, and that brings you two to the edge of a freefall. Encouraged by your moans, he follows you in this mad distant dance of pleasure, touches himself and imagines you right here, writhing and gasping next to him. 

Your keening voice calling out his name grasps his heart-roots, lights that spark in his belly and runs it up his spine as he comes; an all-encompassing feeling like no other. 

”Oh my god, Clyde—” comes your voice, panting, coming down from the high. Speechless, much like him.

”I— That was…”

”You alright?”

”Never been better, darlin’,” he says and revels in your laugh as it crackles through. ”What ’bout you? Are you…”

”Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I came this hard alone. So no complaints here.”

He laughs at that with you, something akin to pride curling in his chest at your words. The afterglow is bright, but simmers down quickly as you’re not there beside him. Only the sound of your breathing keeps him company. He sees you on your bed in his mind’s eye, thinks about how you look like right now, disheveled and wild. 

”I— I think I gotta go now,” he finally ends up saying. He’s in a dire need of a shower. 

”Yes, me too,” you respond, all bashful, boldness and bravery faded and Clyde can’t help but imagine how endearing you must look right now. “I’ll call you tomorrow after work, alright?”

“Sounds good t’me. Goodnight, darlin’.”

“Goodnight, Clyde. Sweet dreams.”

As he ends the call and paddles to the bathroom, legs just a little bit weak, head just a little bit dizzy, he thinks his dreams won’t probably ever get to be as sweet as you.

**March (again)**

As the date of your return grows closer, Clyde grows restless, sick from joy and fear and anticipation. For a while now his sleep has been stolen by the images of you, his mind going through every single option it can think of, every imaginable route of how the events of your reunion would transpire. It’s frightening.

The evening before your return Clyde stands outside his trailer. Just like a year ago, the wind is starting to bear the beginnings of spring, the sky a beautiful bold burst of colours. Something new and uncharted is at hand, the unknown whispering itself in the horizon — or maybe it’s the familiarity finally finding its way back home. Clyde’s not sure yet.

While he’s never been much a man of God, tonight he prays nevertheless, hoping that you’re going to be his to hold after all these months.

\--

Your plane arrives early in the morning; first flight home. Clyde arrives to the airport half an hour early and restlessly waits, bouncing his leg impatiently as he keep a steady watch on the arriving flights, watching the minutes go by.

A tempest rages inside him, equal parts beautiful and terrifying. 

And finally, when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer, when his patience is stretched to its last limits; the doors to the baggage claim open and your sweet face is the first thing he sees.

There are no words this time, nothing but you and him as you once again rush into his arms. You jump at him with abandon but he is sturdy and unwavering, catching you with ease as your legs wrap around his waist. He pulls you as close as he can.

At last, he is blessed with the beautiful sunset he’s longed for; he finally sees the clear ripple in the lake, left in the splashing stone’s wake. 

Tears well up in his eyes and even if they fall on your shoulder and stain your shirt, you don’t care. You’re crying, too, but it’s all from the overflowing joy. Neither of you want to let go, only clutch one another, trying to gather the distance between. Finding that missed closeness once more.

When he finally puts you down, you’re smiling, laughing, eyes sparkling. Every star in his sky, every bright light in the dark.

Clyde wonders if this is what true happiness feels like. If nothing else, it’s the closest to the real thing. An overwhelming light that banishes all the doubts and dark thoughts. A feeling so sweet, so easy, and it doubles when you take his hands in yours and kiss the knuckles in both of them. Every fear loses its meaning when you hold him like this, every worry that nearly ate him alive forever shut out; how could he ever doubt you?

”Finally,” you breathe, sigh your joy into his hands as they cup your cheeks. ”I’ve missed you so.”

\--

It all comes easy soon after.

You show up on the trailer’s doorstep the next day, with a big bag of souvenirs you’ve gathered over the course of the year. Clyde’s words of protest go unheard and really, why should he complain? He feels honoured that you went so far as to remember him with a whole arrangement of presents, bought just because. Your delightful, excited smile as he hands you the bag is enough to make him forget why he’d even complain about it in the first place.

It’s still a learning curve, it feels surreal for him to see you sitting on the couch like you’d never been gone. You’re no longer just a memory, a fragment to cling onto; you’re real, just out of his reach, free to touch him as you wish. You encourage him to sit next to you and nudge him to open the bag and discover the treasures within.

There’s two bags of salt water taffy, in his favourite flavour. Other sweets, too, things he hasn’t heard of until now or more common ones that he hasn’t eaten in a long time. You really made use of his persistent sweet tooth; he’s grateful for it. There’s also a jar of very fancy looking honey you say you bought from a farmer’s market last fall. It’s a simple, bright package, and he can’t wait to start using it in his tea in the evenings. He kisses you on the forehead as a silent thank you before he continues.

Two small, rectangular magnets with beautiful artworks greet him next. A golden wheatfield framed by a blue sky; a solitary man sitting on a rock at the edge of a flowing river. They’re not painstakingly realistic, but their bright colours and fascinating brushstrokes appeal to him. 

”I… Don’t know if you remember but I got these back in October,” you begin, ”When I went to that one museum, and I just—”

”I do. Remember that. Got your messages in the middle of the night,” he says, reminiscing the moment with a chuckle. The moment feels eons old, but he remembers the rain like it was last night.

He can see you weren’t expecting that, and the uncertain curve of your mouth turns into a softer one; a gentle, touched surprise.

A few more items to complete the arrangement. A fine fountain pen, black with golden accents; a special mug from the city's Starbucks, illustrating the skyline; a sturdy cardboard bookmark, from the same place you bought the magnets (it's perfect; he's definitely been needing one, always dog-earing his books). He thanks you for all the gifts, but you shrug it off, just glad he likes them.

Even more so than the souvenirs, he loves the thought behind them. You clearly put in a lot of effort, care and… love, into picking these items. 

Could he…?

You’ve slipped off to the kitchen for a moment, leaving him on the couch, caught in a possibility. It tickles in the tip of his tongue, so very close.

It’s the most mundane moment, when you return and slide next to him again, snuggling to his side that makes him lose his breath. His heart is in a gallop — you have to hear it. How it’s all for you. Has been for a long time now, even before you two parted. 

He knows the truth; how come he’s so afraid to speak it?

Electricity sparks in his fingertips, his head feels lightheaded. It’s a deep plunge into something he won’t be aware of until he hits the surface.

He says your name. No turning back now.

”Hm? What is it?” you ask, oblivious. For a moment he falls silent, but the words rush out before he gets to hesitate twice.

”I… I love you.”

”Me too. Love you, I mean... Fuck.”

He can’t even breathe a sigh of relief, feel the rush of joy at your words, when they take an unexpected turn and it twists a dormant part inside him, flicks a switch he didn’t know existed. 

Clyde bursts into unabashed laughter. 

”Hey! It’s not funny! I love you!” 

But he can’t stop; rumbles of laughter tumble from his chest. Your hasty exclaims make him laugh even more, and it’s freeing. It feels… right. Good. He hasn’t had a laugh as good as this in so long. It’s the sort of laughter that makes him go on just from the wonder of it, solely because it’s so much fun to be laughing like this.

A deep breath paired with a few giggles, the last remains of the outburst filled with excitement, disbelief, joy. You’re smiling yourself, and when he finally calms down you bring one hand on his thigh, one on his cheek. He marvels your touch upon him, even if the laughter threatens to return for a moment.

”I love you so much. For so long, it feels like. I wanted to return so bad all the time, hoped you’d be waiting for me.”

”I always was,” he says, and the tears threaten to come forth again. It’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light; coloured deep by a beautiful sunrise. ”Ever since ya left I promised to m’self I’d wait. Now you’re back and… I’m in love with you. You’re all m’thinkin' 'bout. All I want.”

”You have me. Every bit, if you’d like.”

The fluttering in his heart easens and he smiles, feeling lightheaded; drunk on the love that you share. He nods, happier than he’s ever been, and that’s all you need to tug him in for a kiss.

You taste like sunlight; a beautiful future ahead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. i swear, this has been such a work in progress. i loved it, but it also brought me trouble. i'm so glad it's done now, though; i don't wanna leave my stuff unfinished :P i do have to apologise for any typos, i just wanted to get this out 'n about, and since i have no beta i'll just go with what i've got, haha. 
> 
> i tried to keep the style in this chapter as well, but i don't know if it's that visible anymore. (also, phone sex? damn hard to write when you're doing M-rated smut, haha) i hope some of y'all still remember this fic. kudos and comments fuel me, i wanna know what you thought of this ! 
> 
> my studies in uni have begun so it's not clear when i'll get to write more. i'll try my hardest, though; it feels like i'm just starting to get my style and groove and now i just won't have any time for it. little oneshots and snippets might just be the way here - and i'm planning on doing a daily writing challenge of my own for october ;) i also have a charlie concept i'd LOVE to write, but i'm not yet sure when that'll happen.
> 
> anyways, enough rambling. i'll see y'all next time, take care of yourselves ! <3


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